


Just Another Recollection

by mishaphappens



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Future Fic, M/M, Magic, Memory Loss, Memory Magic, Pensieves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 17:25:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishaphappens/pseuds/mishaphappens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on 50 First Dates and insane conversations with freaky_zero. Draco’s short-term memory is destroyed from Harry’s dueling spell, causing him to wake up every morning like it’s just the next day. When, in fact, it has been three years. We come in on the morning that Draco wakes up early and finds a Mister Harry Potter in his bed...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Еще одно воспоминание](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5270933) by [imagine_it](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagine_it/pseuds/imagine_it)



Draco opened his eyes slowly and groaned, covering his eyes quickly against the bright light. First thoughts: Stupid Potter. A thought that held as much loathing and spitting contempt he could muster inside his head. He knew he must be in a hospital bed, because he didn't recognize it as his own when he shifted his legs. The sheets felt silkier, though; they must have finally consented to his wishes for softer linen once they realized how much his poor soul was going to be subject to Potter's curses and hexes. He wasn't even going to count how many times Potter had sent him to the infirmary. Not only was it embarrassing, it was completely unnecessary! Unprovoked actions, that ruffian Potter. A stalker, that one, corrupted in the head, always looking for a fight and picking on me, sniffed Draco delicately. He was going to have to go to St. Mungo's for mental treatment with the entire trauma Potter was putting on his figure.  
  
Rubbing his sleepy eyes, Draco blinked blearily at the light and moved a hand down to draw back the soft blankets. As soon as he did, however, he realized that it was very...drafty and quickly shut the blankets around his body again. Where were his sodding clothes?  
  
"Pomfrey!" Draco bellowed sleepily, his horror apparent. "You dirty cow! Give me my clothes back this instant or you'll be hearing from my father!"  
  
"Shit," someone whispered on the other side of Draco, causing him to whip his head around quickly and become very, very awake. In the horror of his nudity, Draco had failed to take in his surroundings, which he now realized was _not_ Hogwarts Infirmary. He also failed to take stock of the king-sized bed he was laying in, which he was sharing with another person; another person with messy, brown hair, green eyes, and was very, very naked. Like Draco. His name eluded Draco for a moment, because the shock was too much for him and his brain decided to say 'fuck it' and shut itself down. So, Draco flapped his mouth open and shut a couple of times while his brain rebooted. The man lying next to him took that moment to fight with the sheets, reach over to his bedside table, and put on his hideous glasses. As soon as he did, his brain clicked back to life and Draco shrieked.  
  
 _Shrieked_.  
  
Like a little girl, he squealed at the top of his lungs. The only thing missing was Draco slapping his hands to his cheeks in complete horror, but they were too busy trying to grab all the blankets to cover himself up and get out of the bed that had Harry sodding Potter lounging in it! He almost completed his scrambled mission, but Potter cursed and started fighting for the covers.  
  
"Draco, would you calm down! Don't take the bloody blankets!"  
  
"Mine!" Draco screamed, his brain melting down to the point where he could only speak a few syllables. "You! Out!"  
  
"Draco!"  
  
"STALKER!"  
  
"What? For Merlin's sake, stop it!"  
  
"SADIST!"  
  
"This looks bad, I know..."  
  
"RAPIST!"  
  
"DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY!"  
  
Draco won the blanket war, but at a terrible price. For one, he got to see Harry's naked backside and that was **horrible**. The second one was that he fell out of the bed and landed in a heap. Harry's messy head peeped over the edge and Draco glared at him, one arm scrambling to wrap the blankets around him and the other pointing at finger right between Potter's eyes, making the boy go cross-eyed.  
  
"Stay away!" Draco ordered as he slowly backpedaled himself away from the bed. More distance was needed from this psycho.  
  
"Draco, I can explain if you just give me a moment..." Harry begged, sliding off the bed and quickly grabbing a pillow to cover his private parts; for Draco's sanity or sudden shyness, Draco really didn't want to analyze to find out.  
  
"No!" Draco snapped. "You just stay right over there until I call the Ministry. You're going to be locked up for this, Potter! As soon as I find my clothes."  
  
Sighing, Harry pointed at a chest of drawers across the room. "In there."  
  
"My clothes are _not_ in there," Draco spat. "Trying to trick me again, Potter? Hah! Once Dumbledore finds out you've been using your private bedroom to rape innocent boys, ho! You're not going to be his little pet anymore, are you? Unless...Unless..." More rising horror. Draco couldn't deal with this. "Unless you guys are in this together!" Sick, sick images popped in Draco's head with Potter and Dumbledore in staring roles with minimum clothing. He was definitely going to be sick. "Pervert!" Shrieking helped him deal with this trauma.  
  
"Look, I'm usually not here when you wake up, so you can deal with this better-"  
  
Shrieking helped. Shrieking was good. Draco did it a couple of times.  
  
"No, wait - sorry - that came out wrong - I mean-"  
  
"How many times have you raped me!?" Draco demanded in a shrilly voice.  
  
"I don't rape you!" Harry yelled, apparently losing some patience. "You come very willingly!"  
  
"AHH AHH AHH!" Draco shrieked some more and buried his head in his arms and blankets. This was a nightmare. He was going to wake up any moment. Rocking back and forth helped. Yes, rock-a-by Draco. Shh, everything is okay. Sodding Potter is not in your room or anywhere near your physical presence (in your head, entirely different matter). You just need to Wake Up.  
  
A rustle of clothing and footsteps nearing him proved that he hadn't woken up yet.  
  
"Go away, Bad Dream," Draco mumbled, tightening his arms around himself. He heard Potter's knees crack as he kneelt down in front of him. He hoped the rustle of clothing was something that Harry put on his person, and not fluffy handcuffs or something. Not that Draco fantasized about fuzzy handcuffs. No. Not At All.  
  
"Draco-"  
  
"Do **not** call me by my first name," Draco snapped, his head lurching up. He saw Potter's eyes grow hard for a moment, something cold, and Draco was relieved to find something familiar about this boy...before...him...  
  
Draco's breath caught as he finally took a moment to look Potter over. Potter was _not_ seventeen years old. Not the kid he imagined in his head, not the last picture he had of his as they faced off in the hall for another duel after the thousands. He had broader shoulders; his hair was a bit longer and shaggier around his neck. He was apparently taller too, though Draco couldn't tell from this position.  
  
"What happened to you?" Draco choked; leaning back as if afraid the change over Potter's appearance would spread onto him.  
  
"I've been trying to tell you," Harry sighed, rolling his eyes in what _looked_ like in an affectionate way. Draco balked. But Harry licked his lips a bit in a nervous manner; it had Draco leaning forward again. "Well, you see, our last duel..." Harry was beginning to look insanely guilty and Draco narrowed his eyes.  
  
"What did you do to me?" Draco growled and Harry had the decency to lower his eyes and blush with shame.  
  
"It effected your memory, my last spell," Harry said haltingly. "Your, uh, short-term memory."  
  
Draco's eyes squinted as he tried to understand exactly what Harry was saying, even though he was beginning to. He wanted to hear Harry say it himself, admit it, because it wasn't going to be real if he didn't say it out loud. Because Draco was very good with denial and he was going to deny it three times till Sunday if Potter never proved the reality to him.  
  
"You don't remember anything from that day three years ago," Harry explained hesitantly. "You won't ever remember anything after that day. When you go to bed, you forget everything that just happened and it starts all over again."  
  
Three years ago?  
  
"I mean, we have pensieves...before you go to bed, you record every day...but..."  
  
He was handicapped? Harry Potter fucked up his mind? He was lame, he was mentally retarded, he would never remember a proper spell he learned from then on, he needed someone to tell him this every day for the rest of his fucking life?  
  
Harry must had suspected his anger; maybe he received it everyday. It was no surprise to him when Draco lashed out at him, catching his hands quickly. Draco's fury burned him, burned his eyes the most, and he attacked Potter as best as he could.  
  
"You bastard! What have you done to me!?" Draco yelled, his shrieking gone to mad rage. "Why couldn't you have just let me alone!? Why didn't you leave me the fuck **_alone_**!?"  
  
"Because I loved you!" Harry yelled back and he let go of Draco's wrists to wrap his arms around his waist and draw him close. This caused Draco's fury to overboil and he fought like a caught, wild animal, punching Harry where he could, and trying to escape. Harry was much stronger than him, however, which only infuriated him even more.  
  
"I didn't know it then, Draco," Harry mumbled into Draco's neck, barely heard over his screams of outrage. "Just every time I saw you, I couldn't leave you alone. I had to have your attention..."  
  
"You're sick and twisted!" Draco spat furiously, dragging his nails down Harry's bare skin, trying to draw blood. He failed. "Get your hands off of me! GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF OF ME!"  
  
He felt something wet against his skin and Harry kept mumbling against his body, arms tight.  
  
"It's just a bad day, Draco," Harry murmured. "It will be better tomorrow, I promise. I'll wake up early so this won't be so bad for you, just like always."  
  
"Better tomorrow!?" Draco yelled and he punched Harry's shoulder repeatedly. There would be bruises. "What, when I won't remember!? When I've forgotten and you can try a different tactic, because what happens **_now_** doesn't matter and you can simply start anew tomorrow!? Fuck you, Potter! FUCK YOU!"  
  
"Is everything all right, Harry?"  
  
Draco's head whipped around towards the open door, where Hermione was standing sleepily in her nightgown. She looked between them in a confused manner, seeming to be bewildered about their position. For a moment, it gave Draco hope that this was just some weird, nasty prank and none of this was real. None of it. Denial seeped in quickly.  
  
"Granger!" Draco barked. "Get your raving, lunatic friend off of me immediately!"  
  
Her eyes widened painfully.  
  
"You Gryffindors are a twisted, sick group-"  
  
"Blaise!" Granger called.  
  
"If you guys think for one moment that this is funny, you're sadly mistaken-"  
  
"Bad day?" Blaise asked immediately as he ran into the room. He strode towards Draco and Harry with barely a pause to look at the strange position. He didn't wait for Hermione to answer - one look at the situation was obvious. He immediately pulled Harry away (quite easily, but that didn't deter Draco any) from Draco, which caused the blonde-haired boy to leap up with the blankets and try to swing a kick at the Gryffindor. Blaise easily blocked it and moved the other Slytherin away.  
  
"Calm down, Draco," Blaise said gently.  
  
"Calm down!?" Draco was back to shrieking again. "He was trying to molest me! He took off my clothes! This is a sick joke that has gone too far and I want this glamour to go away NOW!"  
  
Harry was crumbled still on the ground, his head in his hands and Hermione rubbing soothing circles over his back.  
  
"Stop the charade!" Draco screamed, furious beyond belief that they haven't let up yet. "Stop it now!"  
  
"You guys better leave," Blaise told the other two, so calmly that it strove Draco's temper to new heights. "This is going to be a Destructive Day."  
  
Hermione nodded and quickly helped Harry to his feet, leading him out of the room. His shoulders stayed slumped and head bowed the entire way. When the door shut, Draco whirled on Blaise, his eyes blazing with ice.  
  
"Were you in on this!?" Draco roared. Blaise took a slow step backwards, but did not seem afraid.  
  
"Draco, this isn't a joke," he said with a sad shake of his head. "I mean, look at me. Do I look seventeen to you?"  
  
"Glamour," Draco waved the logic away. His denial was strong.  
  
"No, Draco," Blaise sighed. "Go look around. You'll find all of your belongings here, though you might not recognize your clothes."  
  
To prove reality wrong, especially Blaise, Draco did that. He strode towards the dresser with the blankets fisted around his waist and looked at the splattered belongings on the counter. A lot of them were his. A hand mirror from his great grandmother, a jewelry box for all the Malfoy crest rings that was charmed only for him to open, his wand lying lazily beside another's, probably Potter's. He grabbed it immediately to snap it in half.  
  
"Accio wand!" Blaise cried and it flew from his fingertips to the other boy's. "Destroy anything you want, but this," he held the want up, "Ollivander is getting tired of replacing Harry's wand."  
  
That threw Draco's rage up again and he swiped all the belongings to the floor. They clattered noisily against the stones. Next, Draco jerked open a drawer, clawed the clothes into his fists and threw them out onto the floor as well. Drawer after drawer was subject to Draco's rage, to his denial of the truth, until they were empty or on the floor. He tore across the room and found a wall full of pictures; pictures of Harry and him, smiling and in each other's arms. Pictures of Granger, Weasley, Blaise, and Pansy. Pictures of all of them together, like some happy, fucking family. They were waving, dancing around, all over each other. His picture self was the worst; he seemed to be completely smitten with Harry and wouldn't let go of his hand. Picture Harry didn't seem to mind at all.  
  
They didn't last against Draco's rage and soon, they were scrambling out of their frames before Draco smashed them to the floor.  
  
"Lies!" Draco screamed, his voice cracking. "Lies, all of them! You fucking bastards, why are you doing this to me!?"  
  
"Maybe you should look into a pensieve, Draco," Blaise commented from the other side of the room, unaffected to the damage around him.  
  
"No!" Draco refused, whirling to face his old classmate, who he barely recognized. "Just tell me this isn't real! Tell me this is a joke!"  
  
"I can't," Blaise sighed. "'cause than I'd be lying."  
  
Silence.


	2. Chapter 2

You know, the tongue was one of the strongest muscles in the body. Draco flexed it now, against the roof of his mouth, against his teeth. It felt like his mouth. It hadn't changed much in three years, which Draco was thankful. But who knew what had been in _it_. That was a little disconcerting and made Draco rock back and forth for a couple of moments to calm himself. Apparently, he had lost his marbles (among other things) and was shagging Potter. **Shagging** him. Who knew where his mouth went! He was convinced that Potter put a couple of spells on him before he woke up every morning or perhaps made him drink a love potion of some kind, because if he was SANE (and apparently, he lost THAT with his long-term memory) he wouldn't be fucking Potter. No. No he wouldn't. Shagging Blaise maybe. He was sexy. But Potter was not. Having a broader chest does not make any difference. You needed more. Draco wouldn't know what else was needed, because in school he never had a real sexual encounter but...oh, who the hell was he kidding? He probably had plenty of sexual encounters now with _Potter_ but he couldn't remember **one** for the life of him, damnit. That made Draco a little upset again. He was going to be a virgin in the head for the rest of his life? This Could Not Be Right.  
  
"You're having the Sex Talk in your head again, aren't you?" Blaise commented from his corner of the room. He was sitting calmly in a still intact chair, having played it safe and kept quiet while Draco had his breakdown. But he just had to cut in when he was working towards his peak, didn't he? Draco sniffed. "Your eyes always squint up like you have Down syndrome whenever you think about sex. I don't know how Harry finds that attractive long enough to shag you."  
  
"I hate you," Draco sniffed indignantly, the only thing he had managed to say to Blaise for the past hour. Then the last thing Blaise said hit Draco hard. "And Potter does NOT shag ME. I shag Potter. I am the Almighty Alpha, do you understand?"  
  
"Oh no," Blaise said, grinning maliciously and his teeth shining. "You are definitely a Bottom Boy. You like Potter on top, all dominant and pushy and you just lay there and take--.”  
  
"STOP!" Draco shrieked (again). "Stop this instant, you evil incarnate!" The images were giving him ulcers, he was sure of it. The pangs in his lower abdomen were just not normal.  
  
"But at least you've accepted the fact that you shag one another," Blaise continued on easily. "I remember this one time, you kept waking up in this one mood or personality and Harry had to go without a _week_."  
  
"Poor Potter," Draco snapped sarcastically then continued on his merry way of pretending that Blaise Did Not Exist. Chewing on his thumb nail, Draco glared at the bed he was sitting on...and realized with rising horror that he was sitting in a bed they probably just _shagged_ in last night. Draco leaped off of the bed immediately and ran to the other side of the room in case the germs decided to follow him. Blaise raised his head bemused.  
  
"What? See a spider?" Blaise looked at the bed curiously.  
  
"I am **not** afraid of spiders," Draco pouted, glaring at the bed.  
  
"Please," the other man snorted. "If I remember correctly, Harry, Hermione, and I had to pry you and Ron off the ceiling you guys refused to come down after two days."  
  
"That is the biggest exaggeration and you know it," Draco sniffed angrily. "After one day, I would have forgotten why the bloody hell I was doing up on the ceiling with Weasley anyway."  
  
Blaise's teasing expression sobered immediately and he cleared his throat.  
  
"Okay. Maybe it was only one day."  
  
"Bloody right."  
  
"You know, Draco...you should really look into the pensieves you have around here..."  
  
"I said no," Draco snapped, turning furious eyes on his old classmate. "And what does 'no' mean?"  
  
"Under any circumstances unless death or bodily harm?"  
  
"Correct."  
  
"So, if I threatened to punch you in the face right now, what would you do?"  
  
"Scream, curse, hit you back, but the answer would still be no."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Nice try, though."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
A knock interrupted their friendly quarrel and Blaise sighed when Draco's shoulders immediately tensed. Hermione peeked her head in, followed quickly by flaming red that made Draco cover his eyes.  
  
"Ugh, so bright," he muttered, theatrically stumbling back to the bed and throwing himself on it.  
  
"How is it going?" Hermione asked, stepping into the room delicately; for Draco's sake or because of the wreckage still on the floor, it was hard to tell. Ron, though, waltzed in without a care, things cracking underneath his feet loudly, and made a great show to stand on top of Draco's scattered shirts.  
  
"Splendid, Granger," Draco muttered into the sheets, before suddenly remembering what he was laying on and jerking up like he was being skinned alive. Frantically, he scrubbed at his face, the light t-shirt and jeans he was wearing, spinning around like it would help. The other three in the room simply stared for a minute before turning back towards each other to converse privately. Draco glared at them behind his messy hair, because he couldn't hear what they were saying, and that was rather rude.  
  
"Sorry!" Draco yelled, not noticing or perhaps not caring that he sounded like a spoiled brat. "Sorry, what did you say? I didn't hear you!"  
  
"Um," Hermione flushed. "We...We were just wondering if you wanted to come down for lunch...?"  
  
"What a wonderful idea," Draco perked up sarcastically, slapping on a fake, plastic smile.  
  
"I don't think-" Blaise started but Draco broke in.  
  
"Well, what you think matters very little, Zabini," Draco spat, enjoying the flicker of emotion crossing Blaise's face. "Personally, being locked up like this is doing nothing for my complexion. _Please_ , show me around this lovely establishment just so I can forget about it tomorrow. I'm sure you guys never get tired of showing me where the bathroom is everyday."  
  
"You're being a bitter git, aren't you?" Ron scowled, cheeks redder than his hair. For a moment, Draco forgot to feel sorry for himself and wished that Weasley's ugly looks could be modified to save the rest of the Wizardry world the pain of looking at him. Having that face for the rest of your life was the real tragedy.  
  
It didn't last long and Draco felt his entire world center on himself again. Ah, that felt better.  
  
"What?" Draco replied innocently enough, even pulling off the expression. "Should I be happy, Weasley? Should I be throwing fucking rose petals everywhere? Maybe do a little dance? How about-"  
  
"This would be easier on you if you would just look at the pensieves..." Hermione began.  
  
"NO," Draco raged, suddenly his cheeks making a very good imitation of Ron's. His rage was immediate and easy to call upon; no longer was there sarcasm. The bitterness had melted into a pool of pure anger and most of it radiated to the one person who did this to him, who was too much of a coward to come and face him now that he KNEW and had adjusted to the fact that Harry bloody Potter was the one who should be subjected to this curse every single day for the rest of his heroic life. "I will NOT look into those stupid pensieves!! Those are not my life!!"  
  
"Of course they are your life, you stupid bloke," Ron snapped. "Just because you can't remember them, it doesn't mean it didn't happen!"  
  
Draco paused, his mouth full of his tirade and ready to be let out. Instead, the words started to drizzle down the way they came, down his throat and landing heavily in his chest, drawing it down like dead weight. Draco felt his knees shake and put a hand on the bedside table to stable himself. The way Weasley had said that...like it was some cue...  
  
"You've said that to me before...haven't you?" Draco asked quietly, his eyes heavy with fire.  
  
"Did you remember that?" Hermione leaped, so much hope splayed on her face.  
  
"No," Draco shook his head, closing his eyes to block these strangers out. These strangers that seemed to know him so well. "It just seems like something a person who knew me well would say to stop me."  
  
They didn't say anything, which Draco knew they would do...because they knew him. Knew when to speak, when to keep quiet, and when to be his friend or enemy. Unfortunately, Draco realized slowly, he knew nothing about them and never would. He opened his eyes to look at them slowly, staring at the faces that he done nothing but taunt in all their years at Hogwarts. Granger and Weasley stared back, Hermione worrying her lower lip and Ron seeming to be resigned to stare back at Draco defiantly, as if daring him to make him look away. He would never know them, never know them like they did him. He would forget about them every morning, reducing them back to his childish hate while they seemed to have gone and grow beyond that...to even consider him as their friend. Draco was suddenly filled with such an aching loss that it momentarily killed him, sent his thoughts blank, and his heart to stop beating until he forced himself to be revived again. When his head and eyes cleared, they were all looking away from him, eyes drawn to the floor in such a way that it reminded Draco of submission, rather than shame. Quickly, the shock came and numbed him for a moment; he cared about them. He didn’t remember ever sharing a close moment with them in his life, but he cared about them so deeply that it threatened to knock Draco out from the reality of it all. He stared at them like he was seeing them for the first time. He didn’t know why, didn’t understand or didn’t want to. Perhaps it was the pictures that he tore off the walls. Perhaps it was the way they treated him like a friend, instead of Draco Malfoy, the Ugly Git Who Made My Life Hell at Hogwarts. But he did care, cared so suddenly, that it scared him to death.  
  
"Get out," Draco requested softly, drawing up a hand to cover his eyes. They didn't say a word or have to be told twice; like friends, they filed out of the room quickly and shut the door quietly behind him. When he was alone, Draco's eyes were drawn to the bed and without thought, he splayed himself over the cushion and blankets again. Although he hated to admit it, he felt at home in the down comforter and the silky blankets. Even though he could not remember ever sleeping in this bed, could not recall a moment when he flung himself with abandon on the bed in either happiness or sadness, Draco's feelings were still there and ingrained. He didn't have to remember to have his feelings grow attached to some material as this; he didn't have to remember ever sharing laughter or tears with Gran...Hermione, Ron, or Blaise to not care for them. The last memory he had of those two was laughing cruelly as Crabbe and Goyle held Ron back, watching Hermione's homework burn from a well-aimed spell. He didn't care for them in the least then...and now, to suddenly **be** like this, be their friend with nothing in-between, caused Draco so much ache and confusion that he felt his eyes leak with tears. Where did these feelings come from? He would never remember it building. Remember it, their friendship, climbing, remember beginning to trust one another; those memories died every time he fell asleep and they were no longer his. He buried his head in his pillow, knowing it was his pillow simply because it had no smell. Eventually, he allowed himself to think of Potter. Harry. What did he feel for Harry, even though he had no memories of him beside broken noses and words that stung?  
  
The feeling that rose within him unbidden caused Draco to cry in loss for many hours.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a couple hours later when someone finally dared to tread back into...Harry **and** Draco's bedroom. Draco didn't bother to roll over to see who it was; he was too comfortable to move. There was the tinkle of glass smacking each other and the smell of warm food gently wafted over to him, causing his empty stomach to growl. Draco realized he hadn't eaten all day. Sighing into his pillow, the blonde man stretched and rolled over, mouth open to greet the unknown presence. Instead, air came out and he snapped his jaw shut.  
  
Harry slowly unfolded a napkin, eyes downcast at first, before lifting them as he handed the white cloth to him. Draco took it mutely, sitting up to allow Harry to put the tray of food over his lap. Harry's nervous hands fluttered over the utensils, straightening them, before they gave in and sank into his own black hair, raking it back.  
  
"Um, dinner," he said lamely, trying to break the silence.  
  
"Very perspective of you, Potter," Draco drawled, staring down at the steak, mashed potatoes, and peas. After his stomach growled again, Draco picked up his fork and knife uncomfortably and began slicing into the tender meat.  
  
"Mind if I sit down?" Harry asked, hovering over the bed.  
  
"It's your room too," Draco pointed out haughtily, stabbing a piece of meat furiously and popping it in his mouth. He moved his stretched out legs, however, and Harry immediately sat down where they had been. He was staring at him, causing Draco to shift uncomfortably. When the gaze started to get a little too intimate for his tastes, Draco dropped the utensils down loudly and jerked his eyes up to stare back at Potter. He half expected Potter to look away, but when he didn't after a couple of seconds, Draco's tense hands slowly relaxed.  
  
"Something I can help you with, Potter?" Draco asked. He felt strangely unemotional, considering he should be flaming pissed with the man in front of him. But he was not; just bitter acceptance washed over him and he thought crying had a lot to do with a lot of this emptiness.  
  
"I thought we could talk," requested Harry, folding his legs in and leaning his elbows on his knees.  
  
"Hm," Draco replied, picking up the fork and knife again. "Why don't you talk and I listen. I'm rather too hungry to really discuss anything."  
  
"Okay," Harry said, smiling a little. Draco refrained from twitching his lips upward, knowing he was completely hopeless like all the pictures showed. He put more food in his mouth quickly.  
  
"The guys told me that you didn't look into the pensieves at all," Harry started slowly, cupping his chin in his folded hands. "That's how you usually start your day, by the way. I get up early, you wake up, and read a little note I leave you, and you go look into the pensieve I leave by your bed."  
  
"Three years are a lot of memories to look through," Draco broke in, feeling discontent that Harry was telling him how he usually started his day, rather than knowing for himself. "What happens in ten years? Twenty? At that rate, by the time I know what I've done with my life, it will be time for me to go back to bed."  
  
"We thought about that," Harry said, nodding and pushing up his glasses. "Not every day is extraordinary...I mean, we have it at hand, but instead, Ron and I mix up the memories that help you the most into one pensieve for you to look at everyday. So, it's like watching a movie and we are slowly explaining what's...happened to you."  
  
"What about the world?" Draco demanded suddenly, curious. "Is Voldemort dead?"  
  
Harry nodded, his brow furrowed a bit and rubbed unconsciously at his scar. The word _endearing_ bubbled up so suddenly in Draco's head that it made it nearly made him choke. He squashed it down frantically and filled his mouth with potatoes.  
  
"Yes," Harry continued. "About two years ago. You helped, you know."  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow and bit back a sarcastic, bitter remark. Harry smiled knowingly.  
  
"Nothing like spying," Harry said. "We let you know what was happening and you helped, uh..."  
  
"Doing what?" Draco asked, unable to contain himself. "Licking envelopes? Cooking for the brave warriors?"  
  
Harry laughed.  
  
"I did, didn't I?" Draco choked, shuddering, eyes wide. "I _cooked_?"  
  
"You're rather good at it," Harry chuckled, his eyes sparking with mirth and...well, Draco didn't want to acknowledge that second emotion quite yet.  
  
"So.." Draco said uncomfortably, chasing a pea into the steak sauce and watching it drown. "I cooked, you waved your mighty sword-er-wand, and people danced in the streets. That the gist of it, Potter?" The word 'Harry' nearly dribbled out of his mouth. He sucked it in almost too late. He was trying to make Harry angry, see if he still had the knack for it after three years. Of course, he completely failed. Harry did nothing but smile softly, his eyes a little distant in memory and sparked with something other than anger - fondness. Draco felt his insides twist. He didn't want to wonder why Harry did that to him; the reaction of it alone was enough to make Draco want to scream.  
  
"They sang too," Harry added, his white teeth disappearing behind an even gentler smile.   
  
"You suck, Potter," Draco said childishly, crossing his arms and licking away at his fork. He was not busying himself enough to ignore Harry's downward glance and the quirk of eyebrow and lip in a most innocent-but-definitely-not manner.  
  
"Pervert."  
  
"Yes," Harry said, rather huskily and failing to hide it. "Yes, I am."  
  
"Away," Draco told him, waving the fork in the man's face.  
  
Harry laughed, tilting his head back to avoid a swipe. "No."  
  
"I want you to go away," Draco said, as if to clarify the situation. The look Harry was giving him and to certain parts of his person was making him very jittery.  
  
"And I fail to comply," Harry replied, smirking. "So sorry."  
  
"You'll regret it," Draco warned, his voice hardening a bit.  
  
"Yes," Harry laughed. "I probably will."  
  
Shoving the food away angrily, Draco got up and strode across the room. Harry's eyes were trained on him every step of the way, especially when he threw open the doors to a large chest. Draco found, instead of clothes, shelves were stacked inside the armoire, and each shelf held a large stone filled with quivering water. The pensieves. The things that held Draco's memories now, since his brain was incapable of storing them now. The things that were his life, his very existence; the only things that knew what he was doing, where he was staying, when it all happened, and who he was sleeping with. Who he was sleeping with! If it caused feelings like this, Draco did not want to know about it. Ever. He grabbed one of the pensieves angrily, jerking it off the shelf, and brought it up over his head. Harry was there in an instant, grabbing one of his wrists, the other clutching onto the cold rock.  
  
"Draco, don't," Harry begged, shocking Draco into looking at him. "Please don't, don't do this."  
  
Draco stopped struggling at the sound of Harry's voice, caked with emotion and crumbling at the edges. His face was open in a plea, desperation tearing up his eyes and panic crinkling his face. Draco's hold threatened to weaken, causing Harry to take most of the weight and help Draco hold it up over their heads.  
  
"I don't want it," Draco whispered, letting himself feel broken and his voice leaked the truth.  
  
"You don't want me," Harry whispered back, his face so, so close. "You just want yourself."  
  
"I want me back," he choked out, closing his eyes to block out the green that was making his mind shatter.  
  
"You can't," Harry said, his voice hard. "You can't ever have Draco if you destroy this."   
  
Draco's fingers gave away and Harry immediately took hold of the pensieve, bringing it down and clutching it to his chest.  
  
"You can't have him back," Harry spat, his voice harder than the rock Draco had just held. He opened his eyes slowly. "You can't have him back, Draco, because he's mine."  
  
Draco's broken hands slowly curled into fists.  
  
"He's in there, with me, Draco," Harry said, looking down at the swirling water before putting the pensieve away. "You can never have him - that piece of you - back, Draco."  
  
 _The piece of me_.  
  
"Because you gave it to me. You can never get that back."  
  
 _I gave it all away to him_ , Draco thought, his eyes stinging and his head thundering.  
  
"Do you understand that, Draco? Do you understand that it belongs to me now?"  
  
"Give it back to me," Draco ordered, first going for the doors. Harry easily slammed them shut and turned to confront him, guarding with a face that was hard in determination.  
  
"No," Harry growled, causing Draco's anger to pitch and refocus on a new target.  
  
"Give it back to me, Harry!" Draco shouted, coming at him with his fists raised.  
  
"I can't!" Harry yelled back, his body bracing for the hit. "I can't stop you from loving me!"  
  
They met hard, first in fists and angry chests. They growled heatedly at each other, sparing a few stinging words. Harry's hands were hard on Draco's body, squeezing skin when a punch made him stumble or grabbing hair when a hit hurt too much. But soon fists uncurled, flattening out onto bare skin and grasping onto similar but opposite hands. Angry chests only brushed now for quick takes of breath, pressing in a caress that was devoid of rage. Legs that once stretched in attack now tangled for a foothold. Draco opened his mouth wide for Harry's rough treatment, to allow the taller man to press closer and go in deeper. They froze for that moment, clinging onto each other, and allowing Draco to realize it was their first kiss...that he could remember. Then Harry suddenly burst into motion and Draco allowed himself to be washed over, pressing back. The bed was found in no time and he was shoved onto it with Harry's hot body, following and smothering him into the blanket confines. The kiss was heated, rough, and expertly given; Harry knew when to swipe, when to dig, and when to retreat leaving Draco inwardly screaming and outwardly hissing. Before he knew it, his jeans were at his knees and Harry's fingers underneath him, pressing into his entrance through his underwear. They didn't stop kissing; Draco thought that if they did, he might protest at the pace they were going. Instead, it only stopped when Harry ripped off his shirt, only to descend again before Draco could catch a proper breath. Both of their jeans gone, Harry was working on the underwear, and Draco found himself mewling helplessly. His shirt was riding up and he felt Harry's skin on him and shuddered.  
  
"Harry-" fresh air, Harry's mouth was gone and instead he had shoved up his shirt properly, mouth working frantically on his nipple and - dear Merlin. Draco bucked and hissed underneath the older man.  
  
"Shit, Harry, wa-" Harry's hand slapped over his lips, screwing his jaw shut, and Draco could only think _smart boy_. Harry's tongue was working lovingly on his stomach, sucking hard enough to leave bruises but never staying in one place too long. It was a weird sensation to Draco, not because it felt…good. But Harry knew exactly how hard to suck and where to do it. Meanwhile, Harry was busy tearing off Draco's underwear. He could only groan a protest, because - Merlin - weren’t they going too fast? But then the thought was gone, just like Harry’s hand, and he was back; kissing him wildly, kissing him hard, and making him ache so badly that he had no problem with Harry grabbing his ankles and spreading him wide.  
  
"That's it," Harry hissed, his voice deeper in urgency and hunger. It was so powerful, a squeak nearly passed Draco's throat and made him tremble violently. He was going to be fucked, holy shit, how did that happen, going to be fucked INto the mattress and DEAR MERLIN.  
  
Harry's fingers were in him, working hard and fast, causing Draco to buck in surprise. There was no pausing, no waiting with bated breath; it was just fast and immediate. Draco knew he should be fighting it; should be pleading Harry to slow down, to just wait a moment for him to catch up with him because he couldn’t, it was just washing over him and...  
  
And that was when Draco had his thought; it bubbled up so suddenly and then stuck on ragged rocks, holding against the waves of emotion.  
  
 _Harry was going fast...because he **liked** it this way._  
  
"Do you like that, Draco?" Harry's voice growled beyond the haze in Draco's eyes. His fingers were **thrusting** into his body now, doing a very good imitation of what was bound to come, what Draco wanted to happen NOW, and it did little to scare him.  
  
"Erm hm, that's nice," Draco hiccupped out, gasping, and finding himself raising his hips, begging for harder, pleading for faster.  
  
"Just-like-this?" Harry punctuated with each inward thrust of his fingers, letting them spread on the last word. Draco felt his eyes roll backwards.  
  
"Yes," he mewed - MEWED, dear Merlin, he wouldn't hear the end of that one. Particularly, he didn't care at the given moment.  
  
"Fuck me, Harry. For fuck's sake, fuck me."  
  
Fingers gone, something bigger along the way with just the small push of hips, and Draco cried out. Harry was hiking Draco's legs up, making him wrap them around his waist, which Draco could only acknowledge half-heartedly. Harry was half way inside of him and not moving.  
  
"You all right-"  
  
"Fuck me, Harry, damn mother fucker-" And Harry was in all the way, pushing hard to shut Draco up. Draco tilted his head back, groaning; Harry didn't wait for him to adjust. He started thrusting into him frantically, short, hard thrusts that broke Draco's moan into little hiccups of passion. Hard ones that made his hips sometimes leave the bed and make him open wide for Harry's cock to fill. It was the best feeling in the world.   
  
"Yes, oh Merlin, yes - fuck me, Harry, fuck me, _fuck me_ -" Draco gasped out, his head rocking on the sheets. Harry's forehead was resting on his cheekas he concentrated on his own pleasure and pivoting his hips into Draco in short, fast strokes. The bed was creaking underneath them in well use and sometimes Harry would lower his head to wipe the sweat building on his forehead on the crumpled shirt Draco was still wearing around his upper body. Draco didn't know what to do with his legs; one moment they were braced onto the mattress, heels digging in, and spreading. Sometimes, only one leg would find itself around Harry's waist and other times, both. Every position was wonderful, fast and hard, just like every event of this stupid day.   
  
"Fuck me...Harry, fuck me..." It had just become a mantra now, a small plea for it not to stop between each small gasp. His hands was stroking and grabbing onto Harry's bare back, spreading the sweat that was building there and loving it; loving the wet feel, the way Harry felt inside of him, and the way that sometimes Harry would try to look at him but couldn't keep eye contact for long.   
  
Draco groaned helplessly, grabbed a handful of Harry's hair and dragged his head up to crush their lips together. He felt his lover's arms tremble as they braced and pushed his bodyweight up a bit, eliciting a new position and - Draco hissed and stopped seeing all together.  
  
"FUCK-" he barked out when he found, like it was some new thing, that he had a voice and could say the word. Harry's hips were still moving, one hand now gripping a hip to keep the new height and grunting as he forced himself hard into Draco with a tight expression on his face. Then he hit the spot again and Draco withered on the bed.  
  
"-fuck, fuck, fuck-" Forget the 'me's. Forget Harry. Forget everything, Draco couldn't think anymore, he was gone, gone, gone, and FUCK, oh Merlin, oh fucking fuck, fuck, fuck -  
  
He had to be coming now, because he was falling, his mind was out of the room and outside, far beyond the stars, and no longer in this dimension and it was so good, so good he didn't want to move, he couldn't if he wanted to, Harry, Harry, Harry, come to the stars with me.  
  
Draco blacked out.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Draco? Draco, baby, wake up," Harry's voice was calling, choking up on a laugh and Draco tiredly opened his eyes.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Don't go to sleep yet."  
  
"But...I'm tired." Idiot.  
  
"I know. Just...don't. I haven't gotten to see you today."  
  
"You'll see me tomorrow."  
  
"Yes, but not this 'you'."  
  
Draco didn't want to know what the hell Harry was talking about. He wanted to sleep. He closed his eyes.  
  
"Draco, please?"  
  
"We'll talk in the morning, Harry."  
  
"No, we won't."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because you won't remember...remember?"  
  
Draco opened his eyes, no longer tired, and stared at Harry.   
  
"Hey...It's okay...Just...Just stay awake to put this in the pensieve, okay?"  
  
"I don't want to sleep now."  
  
"Um...You'll have to eventually, Draco."  
  
"No. I won't sleep ever again."  
  
"You've tried that already."  
  
"I did?" Draco blinked. It was still weird to not being able to remember he should.  
  
"Yes," Harry said seriously, shifting his naked, sweaty body against Draco's. "Nearly drove you insane until...erm, Pansy knocked you out."  
  
"Pansy hit me?"  
  
"Good right hook."  
  
"Apparently."  
  
Silence as they stared at each other and the knowledge of what they had just done sunk into Draco's system. Harry seemed to be searching his face, his eyes going back and forth in a wild motion.  
  
"...You okay?"  
  
"How did you do this to me?"  
  
"Do what?"  
  
Silence on Draco's end.  
  
"Make you love me?" Harry asked with a cocky smile, causing Draco to smack his righteous ass. "Ow."  
  
"Answer the question."  
  
"You already wanted my body," Harry laughed.  
  
"I did not!"  
  
"Okay, maybe not," Harry chuckled then sighed, easily shifting moods. "I dunno, Draco. That's half the challenge. Making you fall in love with me everyday. Sometimes you make it easy, sometimes you fight me tooth and nail." A cheesy, lovesick smile graced Harry's features. "I like doing it. Making you fall for me everyday. It's worth it."  
  
"Yes, I am a good lay," Draco said seriously, causing Harry to laugh, his forehead to fall and rest on his chest.   
  
"No, you're more than that," Harry sighed, snuggling into the body beneath him quite contently. Draco felt the smile on Harry's lips as they rested there in silence. After awhile, Draco found himself playing with Harry's hair.  
  
"Do you love me, Draco?"  
  
"Apparently," Draco replied gruffly, his cheeks heating up.  
  
"You know, I gave you something."  
  
"When?"  
  
"A long time ago."  
  
"What is it? I don't think I remember it." Harry snorted with laughter and Draco managed a small smile.  
  
"You don't need to remember it."  
  
"What is it, Harry?"  
  
A smile against his skin and then Harry was lifting his head, looking into his eyes. "A piece of me."  
  
Silence. Draco was staring into Harry's eyes; he couldn’t see his own eyes, how soft they looked, or the fond touch that had leaked onto the grey layers. All he could see was how Harry's eyes looked...exactly like his.  
  
"Come on," Harry smiled suddenly. "This is a memory for the pensieve that I won't mind replaying over and over again."  
  
Draco thought about fighting. About asking what the point was. But at the silly look on Harry's face, he found himself relenting without word and allowed himself to be dragged up from their snuggled position.  
  
"...Harry?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"You don't show our most...uh, intimate...moments to everybody else, do you?"  
  
Harry just laughed.


	4. Chapter 4

Morning came quietly and Draco let himself drift between dreams and reality, rolling over at least twelve times. Smiling to himself, he stretched his legs out selfishly to take up every inch of room on his bed. Opening his eyes again – he’d lost count quite some time ago – Draco finally stretched and pulled himself up to a sitting position. He blinked sleepily at the unknown surroundings for a moment, leaning back on his hands, and trying to remember where he was. Yesterday finally dribbled to the surface, of Potter approaching him with his wand raised.  
  
Draco groaned.  
  
Not again, he thought.  
  
Patting his face to check for injury and finding no bandages, Draco blearily looked the rest of himself over. He was a little disturbed to find himself naked, especially when he knew what a little pervert Madam Pomfrey was. Couldn’t contain herself, he decided. Just had to see the rest of the package. It comforted him, but only a little.  
  
There was a bedside table and Draco squinted at it; it was pretty bright in here. There was a rolled letter for him, sitting next to a pensieve that perturbed Draco somewhat. Strangely, there was also a set of broken glasses that looked familiar, though Draco couldn’t recall from exactly where. Picking up the parchment, Draco unrolled it.  
  
 _Good morning, Draco –  
  
All answers to your questions about your surroundings and certain arrangements are stored in the pensieve. Please take a moment to look inside before you go wandering; you might be a bit confused if you do not.  
  
Hope that you are well and have a splendid day,  
  
Headmaster Dumbledore_   
  
Draco raised an eyebrow at the scrawled handwriting; it didn’t look like Professor Dumbledore’s writing. But maybe Potter’s spell had hit him a little harder than he thought. He tossed the paper aside, dragging the small pensieve towards him. He looked at the liquid for a moment, his reflection blinking back at him.  
  
Draco fixed a stray hair.  
  
Ah. Better.  
  
Now for the unpleasant part. Draco dipped his head into the water and felt himself being sucked inside.  
  
+  
  
"Bugger off, Potter," a familiar voice snarled.  
  
Draco recognized this scene. It had just happened yesterday after all. Potter was being a stupid, angsty git again and in a fit of teenage rage, had taken it out on poor Draco. Potions were brewing hotly around them as they faced each other off between the rows of long tables. Draco had been on his way to get another newt, but Scarface was in his face.  
  
"Why don't you go around?" Potter snapped back and the real Draco sighed, taking a seat to watch his other self have another round in front of everyone.  
  
"Why don't you bloody sit down and let me pass?" Draco ground out. They had just played this game the day before and quite frankly, the two Dracos were sick of it.  
  
"Why should I do anything nice for you?" Harry challenged, green eyes hot behind his steamed glasses.  
  
"For fuck's sake." Draco, fed up, stalked forward and tried pushing himself through. Just as Harry knocked into his table, an explosion went off - right next to the real Draco who yiped and fled underneath the table. The hot air current, however, knocked a few students backwards, including Pensieve Draco and Harry, who crashed to the floor.  
  
"Ew! Yuck!" Pensieve Draco squealed as he threw himself off of Potter's body and quickly patted himself. "Somebody sanitize me! Help, help, I've got Potter germs all over me!" Draco sympathized with his other self. He did look quite sick. Harry, though, was still on the floor, looking dazed and angry at the same time, if it were possible. His cheeks were rosy, probably from the hot room, and quickly gaining color as Draco danced around checking himself over. When Pensieve Draco was sure he was not close to death, he sniffed delicately and continued on his way. Harry glared furiously at his back.  
  
Suddenly everything slowed down. Confused, Draco looked around. And like a camera, the scene zoomed in one event that Draco was supposed to be looking at. Feeling off-balance, he squinted as Neville picked up a wand, presumably his own that had flown across the room and Harry swiped up the other.  
  
"Harry picked up the wrong wand," somebody said and Draco whirled behind him. No one there, but the voice continued. "He should have noticed but he was...otherwise distracted."  
  
The scene drained away and then blurred back into focus. Harry and Draco were facing off again, this time outside the Potions classroom and no one was around.  
  
"Can't you leave me alone for one day?" Draco yelled, stomping his foot childishly.  
  
"Can't you grow up!?" Harry screamed back.  
  
"Can't we stop asking stupid questions with the same word every single time!?" Draco hysterically shouted.  
  
"FINE!" Harry yelled, raising his wand. "We'll just do it the old fashioned way!"  
  
"I'm not armed!" Draco squeaked, scrambling for the wand in his robes.  
  
"I don't care!" Harry bellowed, charging forward. " _Furnunculus_!" Draco threw himself to the side, ripped his wand out of his pocket, and ducked behind an armory. He gave a quick sigh of relief; boils would scar his complexion.  
  
“Come on out, Draco,” Harry’s flat voice called, dead in anger.  
  
“ _Confundo_!” Draco cried as he came out from behind the armor. Unfortunately, Harry was no longer standing where he was and it harmlessly hit a wall.  
  
“ _Conjunctivities_!” Harry screamed, appearing in the corner of Draco’s vision, and the spell struck him hard. Draco stumbled, slapping a hand on the cold floor to keep him from falling, and whirled around. His vision was immediately blearing and Draco, panicking, stuck out his wand at Harry’s fading figure.  
  
“ _Tisortia_!” “ _Impedimenta_!” They both screamed at the same time. Draco heard the roar of his spell materializing as he was hit again by Potter’s spell. He felt himself slow down, in permanent slow motion.  
  
“ _Deletrius_!” Potter’s voice cried to get rid of Draco’s transfigured tiger, but the spell missed. The tiger’s blurry form flicked to the left and the spell kept going – straight for Draco. He tried to duck but the spell was still in full effect, and he only managed to move an inch before the third spell hit his head and he flew backwards. The scene blacked out, leaving the real Draco in darkness for a moment before Dumbledore's voice started to drift into coherency. Confused, he blinked when the scene appeared; he didn't remember this. Dumbledore was sitting like a fond grandfather on an infirmary bed with Pensieve Draco, a large wrap around his head.  
  
"I'm sorry, Draco, but the damage is permanent," Dumbledore said softly, taking a chance to pat his knee. Pensieve Draco immediately recoiled, glaring coldly at the old face.  
  
"I won't remember anything for the rest of my life and you're sorry?" Draco snarled. "What are you sorry for, you old man? What are you sorry for!?"  
  
Draco blinked and the scene melted away.  
  
"Draco."  
  
Draco knew that voice and he whirled around. Potter was standing there, looking just as he last saw him except dressed in muggle clothing. He had his hands in his pockets and was smiling tightly. Draco tensed his shoulders, taking a step back in a more prepared position to blot away.  
  
"This is just a recording of me and my thoughts," Potter said, taking his hands from his pockets. "It's hard to explain through just pieces of memories, so we thought this would be easier."  
  
"Easier?" Draco echoed, but the recording continued like he hadn't even interrupted.  
  
"That day I attacked you in the corridor..." Harry began, biting the corner of his lip. "Do…Do you remember that spell I used on you? _Deletrius_? It means to destroy. Or to wipe…to wipe out or erase.”  
  
As if in pain, Harry curled and pressed his dry lips together tightly before releasing them.  
  
“The spell started to eat you alive an-and we stopped it,” he said, swallowing. “But not without it’s side effects.”  
  
Draco glared at him, hoping that he would finally get to the point. He ignored the twisting in his gut.  
  
“It…It ate away your short-term memory, Draco,” Harry delivered quickly, his shoulders heaving like he just dropped some heavy weight. Draco didn’t move. “The spell I hit you with destroyed your short term memory.”  
  
Draco still didn’t move.  
  
“You still have all your memories to that moment!” Harry rushed on, trying to reassure Draco even though he could not see him or hear him. “It was shoved into your long-term memory like...uh, like a book on a shelf. But when the spell hit you, it...it broke the bookcase, Draco."  
  
Harry scrubbed at his eyes then, lifting his glasses off his nose, and Draco realized that the boy had just gotten _teary-eyed_. Over HIM.  
  
"What's in your long-term memory is safe and sound," Harry continued, fixing his glasses. "You still remember your childhood, the spells you've learned...all our fights." Another tight smile that drizzled like rain destroying a painting. "But you won't remember anything after that day. Ever."  
  
Draco stood still, staring straight ahead.  
  
"Short-term memory eventually becomes long-term memory after a day," Harry explained. "Without it, however...you'll have nothing beyond that day."  
  
"I know what it fucking means," Draco snapped, teeth clenching and his body shaking. Harry continued.  
  
"We have pensieves, however," Harry said, trying to be cheerful. "We record everyday and we have anything at hand that you might want to know about your...your life. This pensieve is just a summary of what you have been doing the...the past couple of years."  
  
"Whoopde fucking doo," Draco said lamely, his voice void of feeling. He clenched his shaking hands.  
  
"I'm...I'm also sorry, Draco," Harry continued, sounding uncertain. He twisted the hem of his shirt. "You'll never know how sorry I am."  
  
"No," Draco snapped. "No, I guess I wouldn't know, would I?"  
  
Harry blinked out and Draco turned around to confront the memories charging toward him.  
  
+  
  
"Why!? Why couldn't you just leave me alone!?" Draco screamed, punching Harry again and throwing him to the ground from the weight of the blow.  
  
"I don't know, Malfoy," Harry sobbed, hand over his broken glasses. "I don't know."   
  
+  
  
"Um...Malfoy?" Hermione hovered over his table in the library.  
  
"What?" He snarled, but she failed to recoil like everyone else.   
  
"Would...Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me?"   
  
"Trouble in the kitchen with Weasel, Granger?"  
  
A blush rose quickly to her cheeks.  
  
"No," she said heatedly. "I just thought...Well, I thought..."  
  
"That I need friends? That I need Gryffindor pity?"  
  
"That we could stop being children and...and confront this!"  
  
"There isn't a cure, Hermione."  
  
A sniff, not indignant, but more heartening. "I know. At least, not for your head. But...maybe a cure for somewhere else."  
  
+  
  
"You can't be serious."  
  
"I am very serious, Mr. Malfoy."  
  
Draco gazed at the stove then back at Mrs. Weasley who had her arms crossed and wand at the ready. She stared back at him.  
  
"But...I can't cook. I won't be able to remember how to tomorrow," he protested.  
  
"Would you rather clean?" She said, raising her eyebrow. "You don't have to learn how to do that."  
  
Draco hesitated, horror over his face, before fleeing to the stove. "What are we making?"   
  
+  
  
Draco rushed down the stairs as he heard the door creak open and the three bodies filed quickly filed through it in a hushed manner. They took their cloaks off and shook away the snow, before all three heads looked up to watch Draco's loud descent.  
  
"You!" He cussed loudly, not even caring it was nearly midnight. Their shocked expressions quickly melted toward guilt.  
  
"No note!" He roared, his cheeks warm from fury. "Nothing in the pensieve! Just gone! JUST GONE!"  
  
"We're sorry, Draco," Hermione squeaked in quickly. "We just had to leave immediately-"  
  
"I WOULDN'T EVER KNOW!" He screamed and they stepped back toward the wall, eyes wide. "NEVER! WHAT IF YOU NEVER CAME BACK!? I WOULD NEVER KNOW! I WOULD NEVER FUCKING KNOW!"  
  
Harry's eyes were wide, Ron looked very pale, and Hermione had a hand over her lips.  
  
"Don't," he said, breathless and trembling. He clutched onto the banister for strength as he felt his insides breaking. "Don't you ever do that to me again. Don't you ever. Ever do that. Again-" And Draco broke, right in front of them. He brought a hand quickly to his face to hide the evidence. His legs gave way, in relief from worrying for his friends, and horror that he couldn't contain himself any longer. He sat heavily on the steps and cried into his hands, trying to keep quiet as he heard bedroom doors opening and people creeping out of their rooms. Everyone was going to see him like this, broken and crippled, and useless to this whole war. He couldn't let them see, he couldn't, and he was about to scramble up when Hermione threw herself at him, hugging him tightly.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Draco," she whispered, and he felt her tears go into his hair. "We'll never do that again, never, never, I swear-"  
  
Ron behind him, hand on his shoulders and legs on one side of him. Harry on the other, a hand treading across his back and holding his trembling wrist.  
  
The realization that he cared for these people so much nearly killed Draco right then and he sobbed into Hermione's brown hair.  
  
+  
  
“Potter?”  
  
Harry peeked around his drink of pumpkin juice, his head lying on the table, glasses discarded on the wooden top. When he saw Draco, he sucked in his bottom lip and drew his teeth across the flesh repeatedly.   
  
“Why haven’t I seen you today?”  
  
“I’ve…I was busy,” Harry replied with a sigh, lifting his head. He glanced quickly at Draco before looking away. The blonde boy gracefully took a seat, a frown frozen on his lips.  
  
“I see.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Silence between the two, Harry picking at a loose thread in his sleeve. Draco was staring sightlessly ahead before blinking with a sigh.  
  
“Well, I’m going to go to bed.”  
  
“I’ll see you in the morning, Draco.”  
  
Draco stared at Harry’s profile. His shoulders were hunched and curling inwards, as if to make a smaller target. As if to disappear completely.  
  
“Yeah. Maybe.”  
  
+  
  
Draco braced his body on the icy wall, pressing his thundering skull against the cold rock.   
  
“You should tell him, Harry.”  
  
They were whispering on the other side of the door.  
  
“I don’t have to tell him anything, Hermione.”  
  
About him.   
  
“He’s your friend. He’s your-”  
  
“He isn’t anything!” Harry’s voice, harsh, angry, and cloaked in a handful of broken glass.   
  
Draco closed his eyes.  
  
“You can have everything.”  
  
“Sometimes, Hermione, when you have everything it doesn’t mean anything at all.”  
  
“You’re making a mistake.”  
  
“I’m doing what’s right!”  
  
Their voices were getting louder.  
  
“You’re doing nothing!”  
  
“So it won’t become anything!”  
  
“You’re so selfish, Harry!”  
  
“That’s rich, coming from you!”  
  
Draco sighed, opening his eyes that were heavy as rocks attached to them, and turned, pushing the door open.  
  
Their voices grew silent.  
  
Draco stepped out into the hallway and stared at their frozen figures, Harry’s hands like claws poised in the air and barely restraining from reaching to Hermione in anger. He stared at them, looked at their terrified faces. _Did he know_? they must have thought. _Did he know what they were talking about_?  
  
“Draco-“ Hermione started.  
  
“I’m not going to put this in the pensieve,” Draco broke in before anything more could be said. They flinched – not physically, but mentally; a ripple in their magic as it was rebuked. Harry’s hands dropped like lead to his sides.  
  
“This never happened,” Draco told them sternly, nodding at their guilty expressions. He then turned and left them to continue their heated spat that would mean nothing in the morning.  
  
Draco lied, however.  
  
He did put it in the pensieve, although he didn’t remember doing so in the morning.   
  
+  
  
“The pensieves!” Harry cried, scrambling up the stairs. Hermione reached out for him, dived to grab his cloak, and missed, stumbling on the steps.  
  
“No, Harry!” Hermione yelled after him. “No, it’s too late!”   
  
“We have to get them!” Harry yelled over his shoulder, in such a haste up the stairs that he was pushing paintings and swaying them precariously on their nails. They cursed loudly after the Boy Who Lived. Hermione ran after him, brushing the blood on her temple into her hair and slicking it back. They ran down the hall and burst into Draco’s bedroom, where two swirls of blonde hair greeted them. Luna and Draco stared at them, bewildered.  
  
“You should be gone,” Luna told them, shaking her head. “I can take care of Draco.”  
  
“The pensieves,” Harry said, walking to the chest and opening it quickly.  
  
“We don’t have time,” Draco growled. “Leave them, Harry.”  
  
“No!” Harry spat angrily, trying to pull all the rocks out and carry them all at once. “I won’t let you forget all of this!”  
  
A crash downstairs of broken china and a swirl of black magic seeped up through the floor.  
  
“We have to get out of here!” Hermione panicked, grabbing one of the pensieves from Harry before it slipped out of his arms.  
  
“It will just slow us down!” Draco yelled at Harry, fire spitting from his eyes.  
  
“Stop this,” Luna ordered and looked surprised when everybody stopped arguing. Licking her lip nervously, she strode forward and handed out two pensieves for Hermione and Harry to hold. Then, grabbing the last two, she shoved them quickly into Draco’s arms.  
  
“Behind the painting, there is a staircase,” Luna explained. “You’ll be able to get out.”   
  
They stared at her, unmoving, even as they heard the trample of footsteps on the stairs.  
  
“Go,” she said. “They will find it soon enough. You’ll only have so much time.”  
  
“Luna-” Harry started in a tone of argument, but her sober eyes turned on him.  
  
“You are not naïve enough to think there would not be sacrifices, Harry,” she said. “Let me do this.”  
  
“We can fight them off!” Hermione scrambled, her voice choked on desperate panic and tears.  
  
“No,” Draco said, shaking his head. Luna looked at him. “We’re going.”   
  
Without waiting for a reply from the others, he took to the painting and pushed it open with his foot.  
  
“Go,” Luna said and shoved Harry and Hermione through the painting. She and Draco glanced at each other quickly.  
  
“Goodbye,” Draco said, stepping through the archway. Without a reply, Luna closed the painting quickly. He heard her murmur a spell. There was a dragging of something heavy and then he watched as the painting bent inwards as it was pushed against.  
  
“Draco,” Luna whispered to him, beyond the shadows of the staircase.  
  
“What?”  
  
He could hear the smile on her lips. “He loves you.”  
  
A dry smile on Draco’s lips as well. “I know.”  
  
Then Draco could hear the door being slammed open and Luna’s cry of defense, before he left her and shot down the moldy stairs.   
  
+  
  
“So, you survived.”  
  
“Seems like it.”  
  
“Missing any body parts?”  
  
“I haven’t looked. I can’t really feel anything.”  
  
“Hm. Can you feel me touch you here?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“How about here?”  
  
Irritated sigh. “Yes.”  
  
“Here?”  
  
“That tickles.”  
  
“How about here?”  
  
“…Yes.”  
  
“Here?”  
  
“…Y…Yes.”  
  
“…Here?”  
  
“Draco…”  
  
“You seem to be intact to me.”  
  
“How long did you know?”  
  
“Every morning.”  
  
Silence.  
  
“Usually after breakfast.”  
  
“Are you mocking me?”  
  
“You have quite a lovesick smile, Potter.”  
  
“Well, you…Well, you have…Um…”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Well, you fall in love with me every day!”  
  
“…”  
  
“…Merlin…”  
  
“…”  
  
“Draco…do you really fall in love with me every day?”  
  
“I think your head is swelling by this…  
  
…  
  
Are you crying?”  
  
“No!”  
  
“…Hm. Yes, you’re not crying and I’m not in love.”  
  
“That sounds like a perfect beginning to me.”  
  
“…I think so too.”  
  
+  
  
“Why do you care?”  
  
Harry stared at him, his right hand threatening to twist into a fist.  
  
 **“Why do you care, Harry!?”**  
  
A shiver laced through Harry’s frame, most apparent in his cheeks and lips that trembled with words he couldn’t say.  
  
“…I don’t want this.” Draco said. And like a mirror reflecting its owner from every side, Draco appeared in different positions all over the room. Draco, who held his head in his hands. Draco, who was lashing out blindly to some invisible thing. Dracos that cried, Dracos that raged, Dracos that lay sprawled on the floor wishing for something else. And all of them repeated the same phrase…”I don’t want this” and fading as quickly as they arrived.   
  
But Harry remained the same, a statue whose jaw tightened and whose marble eyes were thick with angry tears.  
  
“How come you get to be so selfish?” Harry asked, and Draco raised his head from his hands. He didn’t wait for Draco to respond.  
  
“Why can’t I!?” Harry questioned harshly. “Why can’t I be selfish for once and have you?”  
  
“Is that what you call it?” Draco snarled, his fingers curling inwards. “‘Having me’?” As he leapt to his feet, there was a small howl from the other side of the room that they both ignored; that they could not hear. An onlooker who could not be seen, heard, or touched; but could feel and feel so strongly; it must be impossible to be so angry and confused all at once.  
  
“This is not having me!” One Draco cried.  
  
“This is not having me!” the other screamed at the same time.  
  
“You will never have me, Harry!” the memory yelled. “All those memories you have of me are nothing but fake-they are meaningless and unreal, and all you’ll ever have. If they were gone, you would have NOTHING and that is what you really have, that’s all you really have, Harry-“  
  
Before the memory knew it, Harry was in front of him, gripping his face. Draco’s rambled tangent melted off his tongue as he looked up at Harry’s keen expression, who stared back like a man trying to understand a confusing painting; focused, determined, and loving.  
  
“If it’s fake, Draco,” Harry whispered, “why do we feel like this?”  
  
“I don’t feel anything-“ Draco started but the hands tightened and he stilled.  
  
“Look at me, Draco,” Harry ordered. “Because every time you do, you know. You look at me and you know- _you know_.”  
  
“What do I know?” Draco challenged spitefully.  
  
“You know me,” he replied, like it a common knowledge. “You look at me and you know me in a way you shouldn’t. You know me like I was a dream you just had. You know me like I’ve been in your life forever. Because…” Harry paused for a moment, his eyes turning within himself as he sought for the right words. When they focused back on Draco, it was with such intensity that he was sure burning bricks were being thrown upon his person; they stung and scorched his body that much. “You remember me.”  
  
From far away, someone was crying.  
  
“Impossible,” Draco whispered shakily, his eyes drowning in tears.  
  
“Maybe,” Harry said. “But not fake.”  
  
+  
  
Draco surfaced with a quick intake of breath, jerking himself out of the water and falling back onto the bed. The pensieve rocked precariously in his lap and he locked onto it; whether to keep it from falling, or to throw it across the room, he didn’t know. He stared up at the ceiling; he could feel his eyebrows curling toward one another in a slow progression that somehow required his disorientated concentration. He scratched his nails down the stone surface of his memories and faintly, he noticed his eyes were stinging. But they were a pale comparison to the swirl of thoughts that were making his entire head ache. Letting go of the cool rock, he raked a hand slowly through his hair, trying to swipe his head clean, or maybe catch a foothold of some kind. But he could not; he felt like the mattress was crumbling beneath him and he did not have the will power to stop it. He could not voice or write these thoughts down; his only accomplishment would be to sit poised over an empty sheet of paper for a half an hour. These thoughts made no sense; had no real words but were rather just sounds and emotions that spoke more to him than any language could.  
  
Peeling his eyes from the roof, Draco glanced over everything slowly, forcing himself to recognize something…anything. But nothing-nothing that he had not own all his life-was identifiable. Putting the pensieve aside, Draco dragged himself out of bed on hands and knees, grabbing a crinkled blanket as he got out. Wrapping it around his bare waist, he trotted quickly to the wall that had caught his attention. Pictures of himself and others waved frantically back at him as he approached, smiling in welcome as he peered cautiously at them. Pansy was on Blaise’s shoulders, performing a stunt, before falling and landing on everyone posing nearby. Some of the pictures were at parties, where other wizards walked around them, but their photo counterparts seemed content to smile, wave, and pose for the camera forever more. But the mass collection hanging from the wall was of Harry and Draco-in each other’s arms, looking at each other, smiling shyly…some were captured when Draco was having one of his temper tantrums…some were taken when he didn’t know it and he was staring at Harry, a small smile on his lips…  
  
“You seem in a better mood today,” one of the photos said and Draco whipped his head to the one he had ignored; Luna smiled gently at him from her frame.   
  
“…Luna?” Draco said, surprised. “I didn’t know…I mean, I don’t re-“  
  
She shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, don’t be sappy. You’ve threatened to burn me to ashes many a time, so you really don’t think I believe you’re happy to see me, do you?”  
  
“What?!” Draco cried. “I would never say that-“  
  
Luna snorted loudly, causing Draco to snap his jaw shut for a moment and think.  
  
“Okay, maybe I would have said that…a few times…” Draco started. “But I don’t mean it…”  
  
“Of course not,” Luna said, all knowing and sounding a lot like Hermione. “You couldn’t hurt me, anyway. I’m enchanted.”  
  
“By Weasley, I’m sure. He still doesn’t trust me.”  
  
“He trusts you. Just not a lot.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
Luna leaned forward then, slapping her hands energetically onto the frame, and tilted so much that it appeared she was about to crawl right out of the painting.  
  
“How are you this morning?” she asked.  
  
Draco thought about it, looking away before glancing at her again. “How was I yesterday?”  
  
“You knocked me down, you brute,” Luna sniffed good-naturedly. “I’m still bruised.”   
  
Draco smiled slightly. “I’m sure you’ll heal just fine.”  
  
“Oh, yes,” she replied. “Bruises heal. But some things will never stop bleeding.”  
  
Draco tilted his head, looking away from her.  
  
“I hate it,” he whispered, letting a little bit of his fear leak through.  
  
“Nobody likes bleeding,” she said, her voice loud in cheer but lacking in warmth. “That doesn’t mean you can’t live with it.”  
  
“How?” He asked. “How can you live with something like that? How can you do it over and over again and just not wish for this…this imperfection to go away?”  
  
“Oh, Draco, perfection is so boring,” Luna sighed, checking out her nails with the roll of her eyes. “You know what to expect everyday. It’s the same drabble everyday. You love each other because it is so imperfect.”   
  
Draco finally glanced at her now that the game was forgotten and they were speaking plainly.  
  
“By every right, you shouldn’t. By every right, this shouldn’t work and the two of you shouldn’t be together in the first place. No one expected it. No one wanted it to happen. But it did.”  
  
Draco continued to stare at her, shaking his head slowly.  
  
“Go downstairs, Draco. All your answers are there.”  
  
“How can he love me?” Draco asked desperately, his eyebrows coming together tightly in pain as he fought back tears.  
  
“How can you love him when you don’t even remember him every morning?” She countered, and Draco’s breath trembled in a sigh.  
  
How can he love me when it must be so painful for him? Draco thought as he turned away.  
  
How can he love me when it must be such a strain to be with me? Draco mused, as he got dressed.  
  
How can we be together when I wake up every morning, thinking we are enemies? Draco brooded as he walked cautiously downstairs.  
  
How can we be together when I don’t know anything about him after the accident? Draco thought as he heard the sounds of breakfast and voices at the bottom of the staircase.  
  
How can we love each other at all? Draco sighed as he peeked shyly around the corner.  
  
“Good morning, Draco!” Hermione cheered from the stove, waving a spoon thick with batter at him. Pansy and Ron turned in their seats at the table, their backs to the staircase, and greeted him nonchalantly before going back to buttering their toast. Blaise popped up from the other side of the table, wrestling with Hermione’s cat and trying to get him off.  
  
“Hermione, if you don’t get this thing off me right now-“  
  
“I told you it was evil-“ Ron pitched in.  
  
“Crookshanks isn’t evil, Ron Weasley! It just attacks evil things.”  
  
“HEY!” Blaise and Ron cried.  
  
“Oh,” a new voice broke in, and Draco’s attention was immediately drawn to it. Harry stood in the opposite doorway, holding a few parchments in his hands. He smiled shyly at Draco, and he could literally hear the flip-flop of Harry’s heart from the other side of the room. “Morning, Draco.”  
  
Draco wasn’t any better, and without thought-without knowing really why-he found himself smiling back just as shyly, his insides twisting up noisily. Surely, everyone in the room could hear it.  
  
There was a slight hesitation on Harry’s part, but then he quickly ate the distance between them and stood before him. He looked at Draco, checking for any slight rebuke, before leaning forward, and pecking him softly on the lips. It was short and sweet; nothing long lasting, deep, or meaningful; it was just a common greeting that normal couples would expect to receive from a lover or spouse every morning.   
  
But that was all they needed.   
  
Without any more hesitation, Harry took Draco’s hand and guided him to the table. For Draco, his head was spinning in a free-for-all sensation. His insides were fluttering. He found, in that small second when their lips connected and hidden somewhere in the corner of Harry’s lips, the answer to his questions. Pensieves couldn’t answer it or show it; they were just mirrors reflecting what everyone saw. Letters of love, understanding, and apologies could never express it. The answer lay just between them, little pieces of themselves, and invisible to the rest of the world. It was imperfect; it was cracked on the sides and would never be fully repaired; it was handicapped. But it was still there. It was there because Draco wanted it to exist. Because Harry wanted it to exist.  
  
Draco decided…that’s all he needed to know. All he had to have. He didn’t need perfection to be in love. He didn’t even have to remember him every morning because he already knew, somewhat subconsciously, that he had already given his heart away. Their relationship was what it was; all they had and Draco was willing to take it.  
  
Besides, Draco thought with a smile as he sat next to Harry at the table. He got to have the feeling of falling in love every day. And that wasn’t what he could say for most people.  
  
.Fin.


End file.
